


At night, in my dream, I know what it's all about

by a blueberry moon (Violiko)



Category: Black Sails, Homeland
Genre: Advent Calendar 2017, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, F/M, Friendship, Hope, Love, PTSD, Post Season Six
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-11 07:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12930219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violiko/pseuds/a%20blueberry%20moon
Summary: Set in an alternative universe after season 6.6x12 happened almost like in canon until the bullets didn’t kill Quinn, he was only very badly hurt.Many months have passed. The story begins when Quinn has to build a new life after completing therapy.My first fic! Can’t believe it!Oh yes. Somehow John Silver from Black Sails makes a cameo appearance as Quinn’s friend. Don’t know how that happened ; ) So don’t be confused by all the Johns.Posted on December 6, December 13, December 16 and belated December 25 aka December 31 as part of the Advent Calendar.Chapter 4 is new.Next update coming when I’m done marie-kondo-ing my apartment and can reach my writing desk again, aka february I think : ) hope the new year is treating you well!





	1. Chapter 1

 

It’s still half an hour before he’s officially expected but he can’t wait to see her any longer. He has to confirm with his own eyes that she is fine. He knocks on her glas door and she opens up. She’s dressed to go, of course. Her eyes are focused, ready for anything. He looks at her hands, for a sign that might give her away, but her hands are steady. Then she speaks.

“You’re early.”

“It’s good to have a cushion.” It’s her voice that gives her away, and the attitude with which she lets him enter. She’s not fine, but she’s Carrie. This is what she does.

He briefs her on what’s next. Takes in the surroundings without her noticing. There’s no movement to his eyes that could give him away. Well, there’s one thing that is going to require more thorough attention. As soon as he’s finished talking he turns around to check out her wall. It’s a Brody wall, there’s no other way to put it. Every rumoured movement of his, every little trace is recorded with the helps of pins and threads on a giant world map.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

She’s way ahead of him then. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking anymore.

“No you don’t. Brody is America’s most wanted man. You’re looking for him because it’s your job.”

Her eyes become soft, friendly. A warm feeling spreads within him. He takes the phone he brought for her and reaches out to give it to her.

“New burner phone.”

She grabs it. Their hands touch. And he know’s he’s in trouble.

Carrie notices his hesitation and her eyes are on him immediately, investigating. This would be the time to make a break for it. He can leave. She’s faster though. She takes his hand and he knows he’s been made. Then she touches his cheek. She’s so close now. He can smell her hair, feel her warmth. He can’t bring himself to look into her eyes. When she kisses him he closes his.

Next thing he knows they are both out of breath and his thoughts are gone. Not Carrie’s though.

“Quinn. There’s something you don’t know. I have been recruited by the Russians. No, hear me out. What we’re doing here, I just don’t believe it anymore. I want to work for change, real change. A society not numbed by capitalism. My exfiltration plan is in place. After this operation, I’m out. And I want you to be with me. You’re my best friend. More than that. You and me, we belong together.”

Was she making fun of him? Was she manic? She must have lost it. Yet she looked dead serious. He is going to tell her this is crazy, change her mind. When he speaks, his voice belongs to somebody else.

“Ok. Let me get my things.”

Carrie is beaming. He takes her hand and they leave. They get into his car and just drive, away from Washington, up north and all the way to Alaska, well on their way to Siberia.

 

\---------------

 

Quinn slowly wakes up, pulls his blanket closer. A few more seconds. He feels exceptionally well rested, content, a warm feeling all the way to his toes. He wants to stretch, raise his arms. His left doesn’t cooperate. Confused he sits up, lifts his legs out of bed. His left leg moves weirdly, clumsily. Doesn’t obey. His whole body hurts. He’s trapped. It’s not cozy and warm anymore, it’s hot. He sweating, all awake now. In the twilight he can make out the room, sparely furnished. One window, trees outside. A small tablet with pills on the night stand, different shapes and colors, so many of them.

Right. With a groan, he buries his head in his shaking hands and rubs his eyes. Fuck. It’s been ages since he had a dream like that. He finds his water bottle, swallows his pills, all at once. It’s not at all better than the nightmares which also come more sparingly now. 

There’s a packed duffel bag near the door and suddenly the reappearance of the dream makes more sense. He is going to leave today. After one and a half years, his time at the Green Stream Institute Therapy Center has come to an end.

 

\---------------

 

The hours fly by. Suddenly it is late afternoon.

Quinn stands hidden away in the dark hallway, his duffel bag next to him, and tries to pry open the big metal entrance doors without making a sound. It would be difficult with only his right hand, but he has regained a certain amount of mobility in his left. Finally the doors open just a crack.

He glimpses outside in time to see his friend John’s car approach in the distance, taking the curvy gravel roads with a speed that is completely inappropriate. He wants to go out to meet him but hesitates, not ready to be seen.

He takes a deep breath. The air is crisp and chilly. Autumn comes early up here in the mountains. It smells like earth and pine trees. Nobody is more surprised than him, but it smells like home. There’s a story to every sound he hears. The clattering of porcelain and the hum of voices: everybody is occupied in the dining hall for afternoon tea. A faint whistled tune carried to him from outside: Ruth, strolling through the gardens, never one to join for official meals. 20 months and 12 days at this place lie behind him and only minutes ahead.

Finally the car comes to a screeching halt right next to the no parking sign in front of the building. John jumps out, honking the horn, brushes a hand through his unruly hair and immediately lights a cigarette. Quinn rolls his eyes, grabs his duffel with his right hand and hurries outside.

John’s face lights up when he sees him. He dramatically opens his arms.

“Peter Quinn! Your carriage to the outside world awaits.”

“Yeah.” Quinn was already at the trunk, struggling with the opening mechanism. “Let’s go.”

John’s face appears before him.

“Monsieur - let me take care of your bags.”  
His possessions are taken from him and he lifts his hands in defeat, watching with growing impatience as John opens the trunk and starts to intricately rearrange its contents.

“John, can we fucking speed this up?”

The shrill sound of the opening entrance doors interrupts them, the very sound Quinn has tried so hard to avoid. Marianne, in a white lab coat, her thick reading glasses pushed up, purposefully strides towards them.

John smirks. “Too late.” He sits down at the edge of the trunk, lighting another cigarette.

“I knew it!” Marianne arrives at the car, out of breath. “Peter. I told you to say goodbye. Explicitly.”

She shakes her head. “As your therapist, I should have known you’d try to steal away in the middle of the night.”

There’s no use in pointing out it’s only afternoon, so he just buries her in a big hug.

“Sorry Marianne. I wanted to make it quick.” His voice is less firm than intended.

She looks at him. Her eyes are moist.

“Of course you did. You know Peter, I’m proud of you. I think you can do anything.”

When he scoffs, she laughs.

“So, you promised. You’re not an island. Don’t do it all alone.”

He squeezes her shoulder.

“You know - I won’t. Thank you Marianne.”

John jumps down from the edge of the trunk. “And for now, he has me. I won’t take my eyes off him until we’re in New York. And not while I’m in New York either.” He elbows Quinn. “Imagine if somebody tried to steal you.”

Marianne gives John a not so gentle push. “Don’t be too long, you. We’re drowning in work, you know. And don’t forget half of what you’re supposed to bring, like last time!”

“Ouch. I’d never. Come on Peter. We’re outta here.”

 

\---------------

 

They drive in companionable silence, leaving the miles behind quickly. John is an enthusiastic driver, to say the least. It suits Quinn just fine. He watches the sunset over the mountains as they make their way into the valley and towards better asphalt.

They stop for food at a small diner to the side of the road. During previous trips together Quinn had learned that John loves breaks just as much as road trips. A philosophy grad student eternally one semester from his exam, John had first come to the therapy center after losing the lower part of his left leg in a bike accident. Now he earned his living as the center’s driver and person for various pursuits. He was fond of gardening and had taken over the main responsibility for the center’s farm land. There was a small group of strictly… medical plants that he kept in a remote corner. The gardens had been one of Quinn’s assigned responsibilities and that’s also where they had struck up a friendship. Their shared appreciation of said medical plants had helped, but it would be inaccurate to reduce it to that. John was extremely likeable. Easy, pleasant and good with words. He had no trouble filling Quinn’s silence.

John is the first to finish his sandwich and fixes his piercing blue eyes on Quinn.

“So. You finally want to tell me where you’re headed once we reach New York? Come up with a plan now?”

Quinn’s pretension as of yet had been that he hadn’t decided. John had met his excuses with a non-committal “sure” and raised eyebrows, but hadn’t pressed further.

The feeling of unrest he has been carrying all day chooses this moment to swallow him.

“Maybe I don’t wanna tell you.”

“I’m sure it’s that.”

“Maybe it’s none of your business.”

John raises his eyebrows.

“Or maybe you have nowhere to go.”

“I do.”

“Ah yeah? Where?”

“I’ll be staying with my aunt.”

“Where does your aunt live?”

“Philadelphia. Is this an interrogation?”

“Nope.” John takes out his phone. “Give me her address, I might wanna visit you.”

“No.”

“I knew it! There is no aunt.”

“Yes there is. I’m just tired of seeing your mug every day.”

John places a hand over his heart. “Ouch. That hurts. If only it were true. You’ll miss me so much. Now let’s see what we come up with.”

He turns to his phone, typing furiously.

“You know, I have resisted thus far. I thought, whatever he wants me to know, he’ll tell me himself.”

“What are you doing?”

“I thought, we have such a good thing going. Peter’s my bro, we’ve been through thick and thin these past months…”

“What are you doing? Stop it!”

“I’m googling you. All those people going like ‘Hey John, have you seen those videos about Peter online’ and I’ve just told them to shut up…”

“I told you about… all of that.”

“Have told them…” John still types like crazy. “Peter tells me what I need to know…”

“I’m serious. Stop it.” It’s time to take the phone out of his hands.

“There we go. Gas chamber… old news. Gas chamber… yada yada yada. President… lucky woman, that one. President… come on, any news for me… hey, what’s that?”

“Give that to me!” Quinn jumps out of his seat, grabs John’s wrist over the table and twists his arm. The phone falls out of his hand.

“Ouch! What the fuck…” John finally looks at him. The expression in his eyes is a blow to Quinn’s stomach. He lets go and sits back.  
“John… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”  
With a movement so fast even Quinn is impressed, John picks up the phone and slides to the far end of the bench, out of reach. “Gotcha! Now let’s see…”

Quinn closes his eyes.

“So... here we have...‘Furious woman ruins president’s ceremony to defend soldier that saved the president’s life’ now that sounds interesting… ‘Public meltdown earns broken soldier place in exclusive private world-renowned treatment facility’... well, I’ve always wondered… oh look, there’s a video…”

He knows what John has found. He has only seen the video once. Now he hears a metallic voice echo through the speakers of John’s battered phone. A voice he’d recognize anywhere.

He keeps his eyes firmly trained to the table.

Finally it’s over.

“O-K.” John shifts in his seat. Quinn thinks that he will maybe let it slide.

“So.” John contemplates him. Looks out of the window. Fixates on him again.

“Peter. Who’s the woman?”

“Don’t know.”

“Come on.”

“Told you. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” John’s blue eyes were wide open. “The woman in the video is a random person who cares too much.”

Quinn shrugs.

“Peter. They were taking her off the stage in handcuffs.”

“So.”

“I’m pretty sure she isn’t working as a presidential advisor anymore after that... display.”

“Not my problem.”

“Hey, mystery man.. They are writing she’s Ex-CIA. They say you were lovers. I knew I should have looked you up sooner.”

John leans closer.

“Peter, is that true? Is she... your friend?”

Quinn ignores him. John stops asking, but his scrutinizing eyes never leave Quinn’s face. The waiter refills their coffee and takes away their empty trays. Table neighbours come and go. Finally Quinn can’t take it anymore.

“John. Stop staring.”

“So are they right?”

“They aren’t.”

John chuckles. “Then why do you look so pissed?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, that’s why.” He waves towards the waiter and pays both their bills in an unspoken apology.

 

\---------------

 

They drive on, passing through dark countryside, trees bending left and right of the street, leafs swirling through the air in front of the headlights. John searches for the perfect song in the channels of the car radio. Quinn carefully sneaks a glance at him. His curly hair is as unruly as ever, his bright, sanguine eyes focused on the road. Whatever he does, he appears carefree, at ease, all energy focused on the now. His car is a friendly space, and despite the goal of their journey Quinn finds himself enjoying the murmur of the radio, the roaring of the wind outside, the comfortable warmth of the seat. This strange feeling of coziness… not for the first time Quinn suspects that it is a concentrated effort on John’s side. Making people feel safe, welcome. His personal gift that he uses just like Quinn used his gifts once upon a time. It would be easy to feel jealous and bitter comparing himself to John. But he likes him far too much.

Their first meetings were hazy memories, dazed from smoking weed, bringing a lightness that helped Quinn shove the ever-present pain to the back of his mind. Then, he actually became better. And he figured he didn’t have anything to lose, no secrets left to protect. They had built a friendship over car rides, mornings spent gardening, evenings spent smoking… and he hadn’t even noticed. Once John mentioned that they were a pair well matched, and Quinn surprised himself by agreeing.

And now, very soon, they were supposed to part. Did they have to? Now that he thinks about it, he is sure there is enough work at the center to employ one more person. They had been speaking about hiring more staff for a while. If he asks, John would agree to turn around, drive them right back. Pay isn’t an issue. It’s not like he requires very much.

The corners of John’s mouth start to twitch and Quinn quickly turns away.

“So, I take it you’ll miss me then... just a little?”

“I’ll miss your weed.”

“Charming.” John gives him a quick scan. “No wonder that angry friend of yours went through so much trouble to get you locked away. Would have done the same to get rid of you.”

It’s a stupid joke and he tries to stifle his reaction but John, ever observant, notices immediately.

“Ha! Too close to home?

“She’s not my friend.”

“Ex, then.”

“No.”

John twitches in his seat until he can’t hold back anymore.

“Peter… I’m worried. I’m about to loose my best friend” Quinn turns to study the darkness outside the window “but I’m good where I am. However, my best friend, I’m not so sure about him. I think he’s at a loss and too stubborn to admit it. I think… I think part of him is ashamed of… what’s happened. To reach out to his friends and family. Not sure they want him in their lives?”

“You think too much.” With every mile they leave behind, more pictures, more memories are attacking his mind. He needs all his focus to keep them at bay. Voices are whispering inside his head, telling him he has been stupid to let somebody in his life like this. His friend has come too close.

The old Quinn would not hesitate to do what’s necessary. Not kill John, of course. Cut the cord. New Quinn isn’t as resolved. He just sits, used to the warmth, the connection. He has grown weak during his months spent at the therapy center. So he tries the other road, the one he has been taking again and again in recent months.

“We were colleagues. We worked together in… messy places. A lot went wrong.”

He turns, gives John his full attention.

“I don’t think it can be made right again.”

John waits a while for him to continue, but of course that is all there is to say.

“Hm. I can’t help it but… that video… to me, that’s not someone ready to give up and move on.”

“That video is over one and a half years old.”

20 months and 13 days, to be precise, 1 day older than his stay at the institute.

“Still… maybe I’m assuming but a scene like that… risking one’s career…”

Quinn snorts.

“Yeah. A middle finger. Put your hands back on the wheel.”

“A… you are serious… how?”

“She knew what she was doing. She got me locked up at the institute. My story all over the news. Again.”

“Yes. The institute practically saved your life. Sorry to be blunt. You were a mess when you arrived.”

“Not her decision to make.”

John resumed the position of a responsible driver, but his disapproval finds a way of staying with Quinn, until he can’t resist the urge to add:

“I know it’s hard to accept. But some things are too broken to be fixed.”

“So you keep saying."

“You disagree.”

“What I know of your past… some stuff just gives you battle scars.” When John continues, his tone is as easy and pleasant as ever. “I think you’re in a very different place now.”

Quinn slides deeper into his seat. Tonight, he isn’t sure about that.

 

\---------------

 

They check into a motel for the night and a room with a double bed is all there is left. After a quick drink at the dingy bar John says good night and is gone within seconds. Quinn can’t sleep. He curses the whisky he had, in combination with all the takeaway coffee it makes his skin crawl. The room is stuffy and the blanket scratchy. He catches himself longing for his familiar bed at the center and the lonely view out of his window. Staying at one place for too long seems to have messed with his already messed up head. He tries to settle, makes an effort to control his breathing. As soon as he closes his eyes, he’s in Pakistan. He’s in Syria. He’s in Brooklyn. Refusing therapy. Smoking crack. Eating cookies with Carrie and Franny. It is like the journey and John’s efforts have shattered the walls Quinn has put up between his new world and his old. With every mile they come closer to New York, the thin shreds of peace he has worked so hard to achieve are slipping through his fingers.

He permits himself to think of Max. Quiet Max, who has nothing to thank him for and yet kept reaching out to him, in silent friendship that he was not able to recognize back then. He thinks of Franny, curious, funny and never judging. Finally he thinks of Carrie. Carrie, who refused to leave his side no matter the inconvenience. The comparison to a bloodhound is not a kind one, but it is fitting. She wasn’t one to give up on what was already lost, doing everything she could to make up for what she couldn’t.

It has been a long time since he has seen them. He concentrates and recalls Max and his deadpan jokes. Franny’s round cheeks, her heartfelt giggle. Carrie’s voice. Before his stroke, time and distance had never influenced how vividly he could picture what he made an effort not to forget. He imagines meeting them, like a reunion of long-lost relatives. Strangely, they aren’t in Brooklyn in his mind. Somehow, the meeting takes place in Baltimore, in the house he spent the early years of his life in. His mother had also been very fond of reunions. Full of promise and hope. Never lasting. When their reunions ended, with her relapsing only weeks or days later, the aftermath that followed for Quinn was never worth the short joy they had brought.

He’s hanging out with Carrie, Max and Frannie in his old living room in Baltimore. Now Astrid is there too. Now they’re not talking anymore, he’s guarding them. Defending them. Protecting Franny from a SWAT team, from black figures that he himself has called from the underworld. He is forsaking Astrid. Drowning the world in demons of his own making. He’s a black hole, swallowing all life around him.

He opens his eyes and pants for air. Pinches the skin between his thumb and index finger, bites his cheek. It takes him a good while to regain his composure. Then he feels calmer than he has the whole day.

There is no way in hell he will ever face them again.

He looks over to John, who is snoring softly. John, who is the best surprise of his recovery. Something he has won. Something he will have to leave behind.

He gets up as silently as he can. His bag is packed neatly. He will be able to leave within seconds. John’s possessions are scattered all over the floor, his bag, similar in size to his, almost empty. Despite himself Quinn smiles.

Following an impulse, he takes both their bags into the bathroom and switches their contents, ready to take John’s backpack with him and leave his own behind. What he’s doing now, John won’t understand. He will be disappointed. There is nothing to say and so there’ll be no note left behind for John to find. But he wants to leave something for him and swapping their bags, Quinn is sure this is a gesture John will appreciate.

He casts a last glance into the mirror, brushes through his hair with his fingers. His reflection is unfamiliar, hard and grey in the motel’s unforgiving light. A person you would make an effort to avoid after dark.

A moment later Quinn is out of the motel room. He’s gone and yet again it was surprisingly easy to cut his ties.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Made it.
> 
> Comments are most welcome!
> 
> Don’t know if the use of drugs is a sensitive topic, in my mind it seemed realistic that Quinn would try to self medicate using marijuana.
> 
> Next chapter comes on December 13, my next Advent Calendar date.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! And thanks for being there after 6x12, all of you. I needed it!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  20 months and 13 days ago and then some.
> 
> The intro soundtrack for this chapter is "God Only Knows" by The Slow Show.
> 
> The outro soundtrack is "Surrender" by Cash Cash.
> 
> Posted on December 13 as part of the Advent Calendar.  
> 

 

 

**_20 months and 13 days ago_ **

 

The doctors at the small upstate hospital tell him how lucky he is to be alive every time they check on him. With worried faces they point out that his recovery is slow. He can’t hope for much in light of his condition.

When he is out of the worst and moves to a normal room the nurses start bugging him about getting up, exercising his muscles. He lets them have their way. Staying in bed or moving down the hall to hang out on the common room sofa, it’s all the same to him. 

He’s had an extensive ultrasound examination this morning and plans to empty his head staring at the TV. Two old ladies are battling each other in a drawn out round of chess in the otherwise empty common room. The old television set hanging up in the corner is not even of the flat kind yet. He honours it with a few choice words while he fumbles for the remote control under stacks and stacks of old newspapers. There it is. He ups the volume and lies down on the sofa. The television’s crackling sound makes for horrible audio, but calming white noise. He dozes off before he can settle for a channel.

Carrie’s voice interrupts his nap, urgent and sharp around the edges. He’s still in the common room, with only the chess players as company. Carrie continues to talk, empathic, rustling and whooshing. He stands up straight. Carrie’s face is all over the television.

On screen the camera pans out to reveal the new president next to her, holding a press conference. The president’s posture is rigid while she speaks of the unthinkable that has happened, the assassination attempt, Carrie stopped it at the last second. She hugs Carrie. Her attitude softens as she switches to lighter topics, the change she hopes to bring. A sea of people dressed in black are framing Carrie and the president, their faces tense with careful diplomacy written all over them.

He’s nauseous. He hasn’t expected this.

Carrie takes the stage, speaks into the microphone and informs the public about the security breach. The audience is shouting, clapping their hands, stomping their feet, giving her roaring applause for her bravery in saving the president.

Carrie outfaces all of them. She walks over the scene in wide steps, her arms swinging, her chin high. She is glowing. He swallows. He has never seen her more confident. A moderator announces her return to national security as the president’s personal advisor and the crowd goes wild. He finds himself smiling - who would have thought, all those years ago. Not that she doesn’t deserve it. No one is better suited for the job. She’s in control, sharp and trustworthy. Perfect. This is what her life has built up to.

Carrie walks up to the podium and takes back the microphone. The audience as well as the people on stage are clearly looking forward to hear what she has to say.

He takes a deep breath. His thoughts wander off, they easily do these days. Their paths have separated. Just as they should have, years ago. No good has come from ignoring it. He’s made peace with it now.

It’s pointless to long for Carrie to be different. To wish for himself to be something entirely other than he is. Two people moving into different directions with their life, it happens all the fucking time. He needs to be ok with it.

The noise from the television swells up. He focuses back on the screen. He’s lost the thread but something in the atmosphere… Carrie speaks faster now. Her words come hard and adamant.

_“This is how we thank them. Our whole nation. This is what they come back to. Never mind who you’re voting for. It doesn’t matter. This SHIT is the same, year after year after year. What do they give for this country, for YOU? Their life. What do we give them in return? We marginalize them. Forget about them. Leave them with minimum care.”_

Oh shit, he thinks. Don’t do this. The chess players turn towards him. He must have said it out loud.

_“... a veteran who has already paid a bitter prize for putting this country first. Over and over again. He was left with a life he barely recognized. And then set up by the very people that should have protected him.”_

He rubs his forehead and his hand is clammy. On television the moderator approaches Carrie, an uncomfortable smirk glued to his face. The audience has grown quiet and still in their seats. The president is a frozen smile. Is this live? The camera operates neutrally, no effort to smooth things over, even though this is clearly unplanned.

His heart is pounding as he moves closer to the television. Carrie’s face fills out the screen. She glares at the camera.

_“Peter Quinn has saved our life. He saved the President Elect. Came so close to dying himself. Again. And where is he now? Being treated for his injuries? For his PTSD that’s out of the roof, in the very best facility this country has to offer?”_

His cheeks are burning. His knees shake, unable to continue their job. TV-Carrie tightens her fists, all focus now, ready to pounce. Stop talking, he thinks. Now.

_“He’s at a dump, a shithole. On minimum government support. They are stitching him up and sending him back to the street as soon as he stops bleeding. He saved the President Elect and that’s how we thank him. He’s a goddamn hero and what does he get? Fucking nothing!”_

The manager wrestles the microphone out of her hands. Security constrains her arms and puts her in handcuffs. It’s over.

Quinn is on the floor. There is something wrong with his sight, vision all blurry and he blinks rapidly to make it go away.

“Someone’s pissed,” says a raspy voice in his back. The chess players have joined him. Husky laugh. “That’s one way to end your career. What’s with your feet, kiddo, you ok?”

He’s about to cover up with the first half-assed joke that comes to mind when a picture appears on screen, a fucking photograph of him. It effectively silences the chess players. They stare at his face, glance at the screen, settle back on him. “Oh,” says one of them.

A nurse walks by and stops in her tracks. “What’s up in here?” Other patients stroll closer, sniffing a rupture in routine. It’s time to get up and out of here.

The chess players extend their nicotine stained hands towards him and before he can ignore them his efforts to rise send a sharp flash of pain through his shoulder. They pull him up and it’s a disgraceful sight, two slight elderly ladies hauling his heavy frame. He’s as good as past caring but not quite. He turns his back to all of them, not looking at anyone until he’s in his room, firmly closing the door behind him.

 

\-----

 

They come for him in the evening, a small team of unenthusiastic faces. The night shift ushers them into his room. He recognizes one, a guy that has been on television with Carrie earlier. He introduces himself as David and is the one leading the conversation by making a gesture out of thanking Quinn for his service in the name of the nation. Asks him to join them in watching a short video clip on his laptop. He might have already seen it online, or has he not? Quinn settles for an expression of absolute neutrality.

The youtube clip has better sound and resolution, and yes, Carrie gets her point across. She’s betraying nothing until she betrays everything.

He glances at his visitors. Indignation is written all over their faces - the normal reaction of having met Carrie Mathison. In the youtube clip Carrie is guided off stage, the camera showing her hard, shining eyes.

They have pushed her over the edge this time.

Right before she vanishes a delighted beam flickers over her face, triumph, a millisecond only. His breath quickens.

He checks his visitors. Have they noticed?

David closes his laptop. 

“See, it was never our intention to leave you here for this long. Arrangements have been made weeks ago. We have to investigate internally why nobody has followed through. As it looks now, it’s simply a matter of bureaucracy. We’re all a bit confused at the moment, as you can imagine. The last weeks have been chaotic. Now, it is unfortunate that Miss Mathison has chosen this occasion for her public outbreak. It paints a picture that could not be more wrong.”

He pauses to study Quinn face.

“You will be moved immediately. Your care will leave nothing to wish for.” 

He sits down next to Quinn on the bed and Quinn forces himself to remain still.

“Let me speak frankly, Mr Quinn. We expect you to get better. Much better. Let us be clear about the stakes. The president will not contribute to another veteran related scandal. Saving her is not what will end that happy life of yours.”

He bends down, eye to eye, his breath sweeping over Quinn’s face. “Do we agree on this?” Quinn doesn’t answer and he huffs. “Time to get cleaned up. Phillip, Matthew, get his stuff packed. Tony, you’re preparing him for the interview.”

He can’t hold back. “Interview?”

“Of course. We have to discount her accusation. The whole problem is a misunderstanding. It would be most constructive of you to help convey that.”

There was no fucking way. He was going to clarify exactly how unlikely it was that he would put up with an interview, show his face in front of a camera ever again, when David cuts him off with an impatient gesture. “We appreciate how hard this is for you. But you would be doing it for Carrie, you see. She doesn’t have many friends left.” 

And that’s really all there is to say.

 

\---------------------

 

**_Summer_ **

 

The third time she visits him at the Institute is the last time. The air is warm, even up here in the mountains. A day people like to spend outside.

Quinn thinks she can use a change from the city smells and takes her to the kitchen gardens. The herbs and vegetables are growing like weeds. That is what he tells her before he feels his cheeks grow warm under her surprised stare and turns away.

“I’m taking care of the garden. I’m on the garden team, I mean.”

He is hiding behind the curtain of his hair that almost reaches his shoulders by now. It’s ridiculous.

She says nothing in return.

He glances over after a while. Her eyes are on him, warm and happy. Her smile is real. He takes a step back and she lifts a hand to his face, pushes his hair behind his ear, gently and a few times even, until his eyes lie free again.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments on chapter 1. It's so fun chatting with you!
> 
> Next chapter comes on December 16, my next Advent Calendar date.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter picks up when Quinn leaves the motel room. 
> 
> A song is mentioned at one point, here is the link if you like to pre-synchronize: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNyZXS9F98Q
> 
> This was posted on December 16 as part of the Advent Calendar 2017.

Quinn catches a ride on board of an eighteen-wheeler heading northwest. He’s not picky about directions and the truck driver, who introduces himself as Earl, is the first person he happens upon after leaving the motel. Northwest means cold. Lakes, maybe mountains. Early winter, sparse population. It sounds unfamiliar. It sounds ok.

Earl has a thing for fairy lights, rock memorabilia and colorful pictures of bible scenes. Photographs of a wife and an incredible amount of kids decorate the walls. He notices Quinn’s looks and laughs.

“Have nine of them. The oldest is 32. The youngest is 8. Have 24 grandkids as well.”

“Huh.”

“Mormon, ya know.” He reaches up into the cluttered storage compartment over their heads and retrieves two cans of coke, handing one to Quinn and opening the other one himself. “It’s my youngest birthday on Friday. That’s why I’m driving through the night.”

He gives Quinn a quick scan. Doesn’t ask the question and Quinn doesn’t answer it.

It’s pitch black outside except for the headlights. The road is empty. Quinn closes his eyes. His heartbeat calms down in the heavy seesaw of the truck.

Alone. After months, no, years, of prescribed company, scheduled appointments and planned out activities, he’s on his own. He tries not to think of John, sleeping peacefully in the motel room, who will wake up with only Quinn’s duffel and smashed iPhone for company.

 

\-------------

 

Mid next day they reach a truck stop in the Chicago area.

Earl switches off the engine and stretches, joints cracking.

“I’ll get some sleep. Be on my way again late afternoon. Less traffic at night. You?”

Quinn clears his throat. “Where are you headed, exactly?”

If Earl finds it strange that he asks for details now, he doesn’t give it away.

“Final stop Duluth, Minnesota.”

Quinn looks at his hands. “Passing Minneapolis?”

“Sure.”

“That’s where I’m going.”

At four Earl wakes up and Quinn buys them warm burritos. They eat in their seat. Earl says a blessing before they dig in.

They resume their journey and Earl is full of anticipation.

“Ever been to Duluth?” Quinn shakes his head, and he continues. “You know, we live a bit outside. Right by Lake Superior. It’s a wooden house, my parents built it. My wife and I joke that we’ve added a new room for every kid we got.” He laughs. “It’s chaos.”

“Sounds cozy." 

“It is. We have a huge poarch so everybody can fit. You can see for miles across the lake. Nothing better than sitting there in the evening with a cold coke.” He grins, faces Quinn. “With us not drinking alcohol, ya know. So. What about you then?” 

Quinn looks out of the window into the quickly setting sun. “I’m... waging my options. Reorienting.”  It can’t come as a surprise. And Earl has been kind. He wants to give him something. “A house in the woods sounds nice. Always wanted to live close to nature. Maybe I’ll check out Lake Superior.”

“So, I don’t wanna intrude, just curious. What happened to your voice, son?” 

“N-no no. That’s ok.” He realises he’s fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater, lets go of it. “My head was injured. Verbal apraxia. And this.” He gestures up and down his body. 

“Don’t mean to wake bad memories.”

Quinn gives him a brief smile. “That’s ok. I’ve been talking about it.”

Minneapolis comes and goes. More and more buildings turn up to the side of the highway. The glittering skyline appears in the distance and Quinn has to ask Earl to continue.

“Think I’m looking for something calmer.”

They pass the hostel of a small town half an hour later and guests unload their luggage in front of the long wooden building even though it’s late. It’s the best available option. He offers Earl to pitch in on gas and Earl shakes his head.

“I’ve been thinking. Come to our place for a couple days, get the lay of the land? We’ve space. I show you the area. Maybe you like it, stay for a bit?”

It’s his time to politely decline. Earl’s truck vanishes in the distance.

 

\---------------------

 

Carrie waves goodbye to Franny at the school gate. They always, always come in time, but today they are late and school starts in two minutes.

The school yard is emptying quickly. Students disappear inside and a few stray parents part to go to work. Soon only Carrie is left.

It’s a grey day, the clouds are heavy in the sky. They have the same color as the grey asphalt she’s standing on. She looks up, follows the movements in the sky for a bit. Looses herself a little. When she remembers to check the time, twenty minutes have passed. She furrows her brow. She will have to hurry later.

Her desk at work is next to a big window and she makes an effort not to drift away again. She is doing security work, a position she received through a contact of Otto’s. It pays well enough and she and Franny live a comfortable life.

She loves her job because she hates it. The feeling anchors her, like chewing the inside of her cheek after she's accidentally bitten on it. When she walks out at night, she thinks of how much more she could have done with her life and how good it felt to throw it away. She wants nothing to do with it.

She’s home right in time to cook dinner. She plans their meals for the whole week, they are written on the wall calendar and shopped for every Saturday. She checks Franny’s homework and reads books to her until bedtime.

She doesn’t stay up long after. Lately she has been sleeping well, doesn’t even need pills to go down. Her nights are dreamless. Her mind is vacant of things to worry about.

When they leave the house the next morning, back to their regular schedule, they find someone waiting for them at the bottom of their stairs.

 

\---------------------------

 

Quinn moves into a single room. He unpacks and tidies his clothes into the drawers. The gas station that also functions as a grocery store has candles with pine aroma and he buys one for his desk. He also gets bait and fishing gear.

On his second day he goes fishing at Big Marine Lake and catches a pike. The fish gasps for air, two wild round eyes that look at him and the hook sits deep in the fish’s throat. He takes it out and throws the fish back into the water as far as he can. When he walks home his chest is tight. He doesn’t go fishing again.

Guests are few this time of year and the hostel’s staff, two young guys called Lukas and Victor, soon regard Quinn as a regular and try to involve him in their downtime activities. One evening they have beers and watch “The Breakfast Club” together and afterwards Lukas and Victor try to figure out who would be which movie character. To his great annoyance they’re convinced Quinn is the rebel. Quinn leaves them alone. Stupid movie.

 

\---------------------------

 

Halloween comes and goes and like with all other holidays Quinn tries his best to ignore it. He closes the door on Lukas and Victor, two pirates in heavy make up trying to get him to the pub, and spends the evening in his room. 

November in Minnesota brings immediate change of temperature. Not leaving the room feels justified now that it’s freezing outside and darkness comes early. One hour melts into the next.

Saturday after Halloween Quinn can’t remember when he has slept or eaten last. It’s not a good sign. His confinement to the room is bad for his pain, his body hurts more than usual. The food shelf is empty. He can’t postpone heading outside anymore.

A full moon lights up the night, and when he has made it halfway to the grocery store thick white snowflakes start falling from the sky, dance to the ground and swirl in the icy wind. Quinn’s clothes are too light and his leg is stiff in the cold. He needs to focus to not slip on the snowy ground.

When he looks up again there’s no grocery store in sight. He has left town, just zoned out completely, and now there are no lights, no houses left. He knows he’s headed to a place where it’s hard to come back from. He knows he is supposed to call Marianne.

He turns a corner and a sea of light flickers in the distance, strangely shaped and unregular. He walks closer, past a low stone wall, through a small wooden gate and right into a light pine forest. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles are spread on the ground between the trees and flicker in the darkness. No, not on the ground. The candles stand on graves. He’s on a cemetery.

It’s an eerie view. Voices murmur through the trees, steps crunch in the distance. He wanders on between the graves, along small pathways, deeper into the cemetery. A hum reaches his ear, a melody. He follows it around a tree and bumps right into a woman. She lets out a small shriek and drops the candle she’s been holding.

“Fuck. I’m sorry Ma’am.” He bends down and fumbles for her light. She has surprised him too.

“Don’t worry. It’s so dark between the trees, don’t see the hand before my eyes.” 

He blinks. “Would you mind telling me where we are?”

“You don’t know?” Her eyes are moist. “We’re on the pine wood cemetery. A few miles out of Scandia.” She musters his face. “Are you ok?”

He hurries to nod. “Yeah. J-just a bit cold.”

“You’re not here for Allhelgona. All Saints?” She turns back to the grave next to them.

“No. Maybe.” He can’t stop his teeth from chattering

“Well, I’m here for my friend.” She gives the headstone a gentle rub. “I’m singing her to sleep.”

Quinn holds the candle for her while she rekindles the flame.

“She’s been tired for a long time. I think she was glad to go. Didn’t want to wake up all alone anymore.”

The woman smiles at him through her tears. “She’s in a better world now, I guess.” Her face is open as her eyes rest on his. “I would actually be honored if you would stand with me for the song.”

She lights a second candle and hands it to him. When she starts singing, it’s in another language and her bright voice carries far through the air. It’s a beautiful song, more thoughtful than sad. Afterwards they just stand still for a while. Then she turns towards him.

“What about you, my dear? Do you have somebody to sing for?”

Quinn has to bite his lip before he can answer, but then he looks right at her.

“I do. But they’re not here.”

“That’s ok though. Come with me.” She takes his arm and starts walking. “Let me take you to Minneslunden. It’s the place for remembering those that rest far from us.”

They move deeper into the cemetery. Their path is lined with candles. It leads them up a small hill right onto a square framed by a low mural wall. The square is glowing, covered in hundreds and thousands of flickering lights. Small flower arrangements and painted stones are scattered across the top of the mural wall. People have written cards and letters, dozens of them.

“Here we are.” She looks around, takes in the view. “Would you like to tell me about them?”

He gives her a short smile. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

She roots in her bag and hands him a small heather flower arrangement and a tall white grave candle with a lighter. Then she squeezes his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to it then. It’s a good night to remember those we miss.”

He’s alone now. The irony of him at a cemetery on All Saint’s to remember the dead is not lost on him. Astrid would laugh if she could see him. But now she is going to get a candle anyways.

He looks for a good spot on the wall to put it on. It’s not easy to decide. He considers the view and settles for a place she’d like, it’s one where you can see over the biggest part of the cemetery, small lights everywhere. In the horizon is the silhouette of the town, not as far as he thought.

He needs all his concentration to handle the lighter and light the candle, the flame is killed by the wind many times over while he attempts to shield it with his left hand.

He places the small flower arrangement next to the candle and steps back. It looks ridiculous, small and meaningless in the darkness. Like nothing at all.

His eyes start to burn and he rubs them with his freezing hand. It’s a fucking irony that he is still there.

He can hardly bear to think of Astrid but forces himself. She should have just left him the fuck alone. Part of him wants to blame Dar, wants to blame the others involved, but he knows that this one is on him. It’s his inability to trust that killed her.

The little flame flickers and dies. He takes out the lighter. It’s nearly impossible to handle the rough little wheel with his numb fingers, but finally the candle burns again. 

When he pictures Astrid’s face her expression is sceptic. She shakes her head. “You idiot.” Her voice is tough. She raises her eyebrows. “They hired a hitman to kill you. That your fault too? So arrogant.”

“Shut up.” He is startled by his own voice and realizes he has said it out loud. “Shut up now.”

Somebody is coming up the hill, a young couple. He turns away from them, doesn’t want to show his face, but they don’t notice him. They have their arms around each other, talking low, their voices cracking with emotion. He takes a deep breath and picks up a handful of pebbles from the ground. He forms the letter “A” underneath the candle. Then, after a moment of consideration, he shapes a “C” right next to it.

He hardly sees the way when he hikes back, hardly notices his surroundings. He’s slow, the stabbing pain in his left leg and the slippery ground make walking a struggle. He hasn’t heard the noise of a car and so he’s surprised when one stops right next to him.

It’s the lady from the cemetery.

“Hi again. Can I give you a lift?”

“No, no… thank you. I’m all right.”

She opens the door for him from the inside.

“Hop in now. It’s freezing.”

Inside he sees that it’s a rental car.

“You’re not from here.”

“I’m not.” She smiles. “I grew up here though. In the Swedish community. I’ve moved back to Sweden a long time ago. I’m just here for my friend.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She’s had a rich life for many years. She wanted move on.”

She glances at him for a second.

“You’re not swedish, are you?”

“I’m not.”

“You know, I’ve always loved to go to the cemetery and look at the candles on Allhelgona. So peaceful, so beautiful. But then, when I needed it, this day has actually helped me a lot.”  

She reaches over and briefly squeezes his hand, it’s his left and he flinches, startled by the unexpected contact.

“And look at how we all together light up the dark tonight.”

 

\----------------------

 

Quinn makes it back to his room, switches on the small bedside lamp and slips under the covers.

His pills are overdue. He takes a selection of them, skipping those that make him sleepy and those that numb the pain.

Outside the window snowflakes are dancing the same erratic pattern as the patches of light and shadow on his wall. A couple of hours pass until he realizes that he still hasn’t bought any food, but he won’t be able to get up again.

He closes his eyes. His whole fucking world is a ghost house, and he’s the one who built it. It’s him and a lot of dead people. And however much he wants to break free from it, he’s running in circles, doing the same stupid shit again and again.

Time to take the rest of the pills. He grabs John’s backpack, about to take out his tablet container, when he has a hunch and begins to feel the seams of the bag with his fingers. It wouldn't surprise him if John had a secret storage for weed in there.

Frayed textile points him towards a cut in the bottom seam, right before the back padding. When he reaches inside his fingertips brush against something angular. Score.

It’s a white envelope. Addressed to himself. He sits up straight. John’s handwriting is scrawled over the front, thick black letters: _Open me Peter_.

His heartbeat races while he fumbles to unclose it. Shiny black plastic reflects the glow of his bedside lamp. It’s a cheap prepaid phone, Quinn has had hundreds of them. John has used a sheet of the Institute’s stationery to scribble a short message.

 

_“Your new burner phone._

_Call me, Peter._

_Yours, John”_

 

He’s cold all the way to his core. John has known he would bolt. Before they even left the Institute. His hands are trembling when he takes the phone, winds up and hurls it against the wall. The outer shell separates, falling apart. When the parts come to rest on the floor there’s a post-it stuck to the phone’s back. 

 

_“You know you want to.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading : ) 
> 
> Here is the song the lady sings at the cemetery: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNyZXS9F98Q
> 
> This is a picture of the cemetery at Allhelgona, which is celebrated the weekend after Halloween: http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4029/5152322176_2a690f1778.jpg
> 
> There's a Swedish community in Minnesota that I based this on, but the cemetery I copy and pasted right out of Stockholm! ; )
> 
> Comments are most welcome!
> 
> Next update will be December 25 as part of the Advent Calendar.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues right where chapter 3 left us.
> 
> „You know you want to.“

 

Quinn is a shadow pacing up and down the moonlit hallway. The tick tack of the entrance wall clock sounds through the night, joined only by the inhale-exhale of his breathing. He monitors the time, waits for the minute hand to move. Five more minutes to six.

At 5.59 AM he bangs on Victor’s door until a string of obscenities answers him. Victor barges outside and glares at Quinn from bloodshot eyes.

“What?”

“I have a phone that needs fixing.”

“You’re kidding.” Vicor steps outside to check the time. “Very funny. Not now.”

The door slams in Quinns face. He grits his teeth. It is made out of thin wood. Easy to break open. Victor is untrained, not a match for him.

His fingers drum a pattern on the door frame. He shakes his head. He needs to remember where he is. He strikes out and hits the door with his fist instead, several times.

Lucas comes towards him from the other side of the hallway, wrapped in a fleecy red bathrobe.

“What’s going on?”

He’s with him in two steps, taking the prepaid phone pieces out of his pocket.

“I have a broken phone. Won’t start. You gotta try to fix it.”

“Shit, it’s early.” Lukas yawns. “We’ve been out. I need some hours. You’re very welcome to use the reception phone. Or mine.”

Quinn moves to stand between him and his room. “It’s gotta be this phone. It’s gotta be now.”

Lukas rubs his face. “Honestly, neither me or Victor is good at fixing stuff.”  
Quinn fixates Lukas eyes with his own.

“I need your help. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” He nudges his arm. “Hangover breakfast on me.”

  
\----------------------

  
An hour later Quinn, Lukas and Victor sit at a table at The Scandia Cafe. Their food arrives and Quinn is famished. After a few bites his thoughts clear up.

Lucas finished his french toast and goes on to examine the phone parts that are spread between them on the tabletop.

“I gotta ask. What happened?”

“Bad decision making.”

Victor groans, and Quinn feels the need to defend himself.

“It happens.”

Lukas chuckles. “Hey. If anyone knows that, it’s Victor. Have you tried piecing it back together?”

Quinn lifts his left hand with the help of his right. “I can’t. Fine motor skills.” He picks up the phone board. “The bond wires have broken away. I think we can solder them back onto their pints.”

“We can’t solder shit. Buy a new one.” Victor sinks his head into his hands. “Ugh. More coffee.”

“I need a number that’s on this one.”

“So get it somewhere else. Call a friend.”

“I called work. The person I need to talk to has taken a leave of absence. The number they gave the workplace is disconnected.”

Lukas scratches his nose. “Johan might have a solder. My dad, he’s a sculptor. We can drop by his place.”

  
\-------------------------------

  
“See this bond wire here? This is the joint it needs to be soldered on. Right onto the phone board.”

Quinn and Lukas are bent over the workbench in Johan’s atelier. Johan and Victor sit on extravagant handmade wooden chairs behind them. Johan laughs a raspy laugh.

“Good luck. Lukas is super clumsy.”

“Just take your time.” Quinn squints his eyes under the bright daylight bulbs that hang over the workbench. “This one first. Push it with the tweezer. Now slowly… great. Now this one.”

Lukas sweeps the hair out of his sweaty forehead. “Puh. My hands are shaking.”

“You’re doing good. Don’t worry. Ok, here’s the last one.”

“Fucking small.” Lukas hand is trembling. “Oh shit. That’s one ugly solder ball. It’s pretty big. I think it’s too big.”

Quinn is hot as well by now, his sweater is sticking to his skin. He puts aside the solder and studies the phone board. “Put it together now.”

Johan joins them. “But if you get a short, that’s it then.”

Quinn shrugs. “Nothing more we can do.”

When Lukas assembles the phone, the parts fit neatly into each other. The phone looks like new.

Quinn holds it in his hand for a moment, feels its weight. If he’s right, John has bought another one just like it.

He pushes the little start button to the side of the phone. Nothing happens. But his fingers usually have trouble getting the pressure right. He presses again.

The screen stays black.

He swallows hard. The phone is dead.

The others look at him expectantly, and he shakes his head. Tries to think of something to say.

They sit down next to Johan and Victor. Lukas palms his forehead. “Shit, I was really careful. I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long shot.”

“So who were you trying to call anyways?” Lukas lifts his eyebrows suggestively. “A girl?”

Quinn leans against the back of his chair and rubs his cheeks. His hands are cold. “A friend.”

“So… there’s no other way to talk to your friend?”

“We lost touch.”

“Oh no. And that phone was the only way to reach them, and now you’ll never find them again. And you never know what you’ve lost till it’s gone.” Lukas roughs up his hair. "That’s tragic!”

Victor scoffs. “Come on. This is ridiculous.” He shakes his head. “You guys probably just forgot to charge the damn phone.”

They look at each other.

“Shit.” Quinn jumps up and lifts his bag upside down. The charger falls to the ground. He plugs it into an outlet and connects the phone. The screen lights up immediately.

His fingers race over the keys. No pin code. A single empty text message by a contact called “BAE” is waiting in the inbox. He rolls his eyes and turns towards the others.

“Can you give me a minute?”

When he’s alone he sits still for a while. Then he presses “call”.

The phone rings. Nobody picks up. He takes a deep breath. It has been weeks since he left. John has probably thrown his phone away by now, if the burner indeed had a partner like he suspects. He is late. He should hang up.

The ringing stops. Somebody coughs on the other end.

“Peter?” It’s John’s voice, loud and hurried. Excited. “Peter? Is it you?”

He hasn’t answered yet.

“John. It’s me.” The relief that streams through his body is so great that he has to sit down.

“Peter! Shit. I’ve been worried. How are you? Are you ok?”

He shakes his head. Nods. Remembers he is supposed to speak.

“I’m good.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Then John speaks again.

“Liar. Where are you?”

“I’m up north. West.” He takes another deep breath. “I’m in Minnesota.”

“I’m coming to you. I’m flying out.”

“Nah.” He bites his lip. “I’m coming to you. I’ve called the center. Where did you go?”

John laughs. “Funnily enough, I’m still in New York. I’m taking a break from work. Renting a room from a friend. You know, come here and stay with me for a start. There’s tons of space. I’ll talk to my friend.”

“Yeah. Maybe I will.”

“Not maybe. He’s looking for a tenant anyways. Get your ass down here.”

“Ok.”

“Promise?”

He laughs a shaky laugh. “Promise.”

  
\------------------

  
Quinn travels to New York City by train. It takes 34 hours and three train changes, but he wants to feel the miles pass by. He needs time to arrange his thoughts.

After his last train change in Pittsburgh his burner phone rings. John’s happy voice reaches his ear, heavily distorted by noise interference.

“Peter… 4.50 PM Penn Station… “

“Yeah, that’s when I arrive. John, you’re hard to hear. Connection’s bad.”

“Pick… up… Edward…”

“I’ll see you 4.50 PM. Thanks for picking me up.”

“… tell you… not mad… find you… “

Quinn chuckles. “I’m glad you’re not mad. I can hardly hear you. Hanging up now. See you later.”

The hours fly past. They roll into Penn Station and Quinn is nauseous in his seat. He’s had one and a half day to prepare but his body only now catches up. He rolls his shoulder to loosen his stiff muscles.

The train stops at the indoor platform and passengers queue in front of the doors, streaming outside as soon as they open. When the queue has vanished Quinn gets up, shoulders his backpack, smoothes his jacket and leaves the train.

The platform is dirty and full of people, moving every which way at different velocities. It’s hard to keep an even pace. Hard not to stumble after hours of stillness on the train. He takes his hands out of his pockets in case he has to brace himself against a fall.

In the distance at the end of the platform people are hugging and laughing, reuniting with family and friends. Eyes around him sparkle with joy, people have a spring in their step as the exertions of the journey fall away.

With his uneven gait he sticks out, his movements create a vacuum around him, but nobody seems to notice. He pictures John’s face and suddenly it’s not hard to mirror the expression he sees on others.

The platform ends in the entrance hall and Quinn scans the diffusing masses for John’s head of curly hair.  
He leans against the wall to wait for him. The hodgepodge of the train station makes him dizzy. What he had appreciated with crowds was his ability to move invisibly within them. A shadow, a gust of wind. Now he stands out in every way possible. He’s just one of many that can’t live their life smoothly.

“Quinn.” A blurry face appears in front of his eyes and rips him out of his daydream. He blinks, stares at the person in front of him.

It’s Max. A wave of heat rushes through his body. Fuck. His mind races. What is Max doing here?

“You haven’t expected me.”

Quinn glances in all directions, looks for familiar faces, suspicious behaviour. He is going to pin Max against the wall, scare him. Make him tell what’s going on.

Max takes a step back and lifts his hands.

“Quinn. It’s just me. It’s ok. Your friend sent me. John. Didn’t he tell you? He said he was gonna tell you.”

Max watches him like one watches a wild animal. He tries to think of a normal thing to do. He nods his head and extends his hand towards him.

“Hi Max.”

Max takes the offered hand. “It’s so good to see you. I’m sorry I surprised you.” He pulls Quinn close and wraps his arms around him.

Quinn goes rigid in his embrace. “How the fuck do you know John?”

Max lets him go. “Well, apparently you disappeared on him. He tracked down Carrie. Wanted to check if she’d seen you. She brought him to me. He called to tell us you’re all right. And then again this morning.”

He gives Quinn a one-over.

“You look good. Long hair though. And paranoia never dies, eh?”

Quinn huffs. “Where’s John?”

Max gestures for Quinn to take his backpack and follow him.

“It seems like he got a surprise job or something?”

“John has taken a leave of absence from work, is what I know.” Quinn narrows his eyes. “What kind of job?”

Max shrugs. “I’m supposed to bring you to his place. Didn’t he call you?”

“Bad connection. Hey, I’ll get there myself. Just give me the address.”

Max stares at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m parked outside. I know you can get there yourself. It’s just a nice thing to do.” He rolls his eyes. “You know, picking up friends from the train station.” He starts towards the exit, then turns around when Quinn doesn’t follow.

“You coming or what?”

Max’ car is parked one block from the exit at 33rd St. They make their way downtown through the heavy late afternoon traffic.

“East Village. Fancy address you’ve got,” says Max as he looks out into the street. “Who’s this guy your staying with?”

Quinn peruses the dusty surfaces of the car, the paper coffee cups, takeaway boxes, and changes of clothes. He shares his legroom with three pairs of shoes. A rat’s nest of cords occupies the back seat.

“Friend of John’s. Never met him.” He glances at Max, his greying hair, the bags under his eyes. Max’ glasses are smudged. “How have you been?”

“Well, I’ve been here. Lots of work these days.”

“That so.”

“I don’t work for the agency anymore, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t worked with Carrie ever since… you know. I see her though.” He looks at Quinn. “She sends her regards. She would’ve come. But Franny’s home from preschool.”

Quinn nods and turns towards the window.

They arrive at 38 East 1st Street and Max follows Quinn into the house without asking. They have hardly knocked the apartment door when it swings open to reveal a vast brick walled living room.  
The striplights of a wooden bar located at the other end of the room brighten up the dusk and illuminate a man sitting at the counter. He swings around and waves them over, his sonorous voice echoing between the walls.

“One of you better be John’s friend. Or I buzzed in anyone.”

“That’s me. Peter.”

They walk over and shake his hand.

“Max. Just the welcome committee.”

“I’m Edward.” He waves at the bar stools next to him and strokes his long wavy beard. “Macallan Fine Oak. Single Malt Scotch Whisky.” Browsing the alcohol bottles on the counter he takes one, pouring its content into glasses. “30 years old. Should suffice.”

They drink in silence, listen to the hum of voices from the street, dogs barking, traffic rushing. People hurrying in and out of their apartments are slamming their doors.

“John told me you come from Minnesota. Must be loud compared.”

Quinn shrugs. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Can’t say no to John, huh. Well, I clearly have the space. John said you want the room. Tenant moves out next weekend. Till then John says you’re welcome to share his room.”

Edward pours Max and Quinn another whisky. Quinn doesn’t touch his glass. His pill container weighs heavy in the pocket of his trousers.  
“What’s that job John got?”

Edward laughs. “You know him. I’m sure it’s this and that. Didn’t tell you?”

“Just a… bad phone connection.” Quinn avoids Max questioning expression and looks into his glass.

Outside, car tires come to a screeching halt on the street. Next door neighbours can be heard through the walls. The heavy staccato of steps sounds in the stairwell.

An insistent knock on the door jerks them out of their reverie. Edward presses the buzzer and the door swings open.

Carrie stands in the hallway. Chest heaving, she stares inside, at them. No, at him. It looks like she’s been running. Her eyes are wide. She’s still but for her fingers kneading the beanie she’s holding.

“I’ve been in the neighbourhood,” she says finally.

She steps over the threshold and walks over, stops right in front of him.

He gets up. He should say something. His mouth is dry.

Her eyes are searching his face. “You’re back,” she says.

He nods.

“I wanted to come to the train station. I had to make dinner for Franny.”

His ears are ringing.

“How are you then? Was therapy…”

He lifts his hands, the left one doesn’t go as high. Shakes his head. “Good as new.”

It confuses her. The corners of her mouth flutter.

“So, you’re like… you can work and all?”

He exhales. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I gotta go back home.” She looks at the beanie in her hands. “But Max and I are meeting for brunch tomorrow. With friends. Why don’t you come?”

Max gets involved. “Carrie, he literally just came back. I’m sure Quinn doesn’t want to - “

“Max. Don’t baby him. He said he’s fine. Why shouldn’t he come?”

“Carrie, we talked about -”

“Max…“

Quinn ends their discussion. “I’ll be there. Why not.”

Carrie says goodbye. Max joins her after embracing Quinn one more time.

Quinn sits down. From the other end of the counter, Edward slides a new glass of whisky towards him.

As soon as John comes back, he will have to kill him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chaper is my (belated) contribution to December 25th of the Advent Calendar 2017. It became a New Year‘s Eve contribution instead ; )
> 
> Happy New Year!!
> 
> Thanks for reading and chatting. 
> 
> Leave a comment, it‘s great to hear from you! 
> 
> xxx and thanks for this super fun Advent/December : D


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